


Twisted Undying Love

by Sociopathic_Otter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Dark, Drugs, Gore, Kidnapping, M/M, Nurse John, Rape, Sorry Not Sorry, Teacher Sherlock, jim is a kinky boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-06-21 21:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15566406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sociopathic_Otter/pseuds/Sociopathic_Otter
Summary: Sherlock teaches kids at a university in London and it's stressful. So after work what else should he do apart from frequent the local gay bar not too far from his work.Sherlock gets taken for the personal benefit of a seemingly simple bar tender named James. He's like nothing he's ever known before and wants to explore the university teacher's darkest secrets and hidden surprises. After all there is only one way to go about such things.





	1. Chapter 1- He Would Reach Out

Off his face as usual. What was new? The black Yves Saint Laurent shoes dragged just a little against the gritted pavement as the university teacher stumbled his way to the nearest gay bar from his work. Coat collar up and arm dragging against a graffiti covered wall for extra stability, he sniffed as his high was slowly coming down which was good in retrospect since he wanted a drink, just to unwind from the events of today and that god forsaken-  **"** **Sherlock!"**

His head snapped up to the sound of his name and turned to the male in the car that had just pulled up. Champagne locks, shorter than himself and an ex-army doctor. Afghanistan. John. Sherlock ran his hands over his face and rolled his eyes before going back to walking. "What do you want Watson?" he asked his workplace fellow and didn't look at him as the car slowly cruised along beside the pavement. John glanced from the road to Sherlock and sighed as he tried to get him to look over. "Many things actually. Money, fame, maybe even a knighthood. But also you to get into the car so I can drive you home. You can't be going into that place like-" Aggressively, Sherlock turned his gaze to the 'concerned' doctor and walked over to the open window of the Volkswagen, a smirk on his lips that showed he was not in the mood at all. He chuckled in John's face and looked him up and down. "Like what?" he pushed for an answer from the doctor but took over anyway. "Some mad man? A junkie? Oh wait or maybe a psychopath." John's expression softened as he realized Sherlock had heard the conversation he and some of the other staff had earlier today.

Sherlock's smirk just increased as he found John to know what he was talking about. "Yeah. I heard." He said and pushed off of the car, turning back so he could actually get to where he wanted. The doctor opened and closed his mouth but didn't give up on driving after Sherlock. "No... Sherlock wait." He said with a desperation in his tone which clearly didn't matter to the science professor as he spun round on his heels once more. " **No** Watson. I'm not going to wait anymore. I have waited long enough for some things so why don't you just piss off! I don't need a nurse's input." The last part was said through gritted teeth, clear rage and John got that. Loud and clear. This time as Sherlock ambled again, John didn't follow. He rolled up the window and watched as his co-worker walked into the club that had music loud enough to probably hear from the other end of the street. Once he was out of sight, the doctor turned his car around and drove home. He was angry and concerned. Sometimes Sherlock could be so inconsiderate that... idiot.

Some random rave music was on as Sherlock entered the only place he remotely felt comfortable anymore. Not because of the people because he really wasn't a people person but it was the atmosphere. The atmosphere and the drinks. Which all came from one man. James.

As he got to his usual seat at the bar, Sherlock discarded himself of his coat and blue scarf, hanging them on the back of his seat as he ran a hand over his face. The Irishman watched the teacher walk in and got the single malt whisky ready, the first drink he always had when entering from work. It was a piece of information James always made sure to retain. The minute he was sat down, James passed it over with a sweet smile which Sherlock returned with a nod. He picked up the rounded glass in those nimble fingers and took a sip, letting out a groan soon after as his high had almost complete gone. Good thing in retrospect. He glanced round the club, oblivious to the man watching him, serving yet another new arrival.


	2. Chapter 2- It All Turns Back On Us Evevntually

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small little tiny flashback to earlier that day. Gives more explanation.

"No Mycroft. I'm not back on the sweets." Sherlock lied as naturally as ever as he stormed through the gates of his workplace. It's the morning and of course he's high. High and angry with his brother. It only took them a couple minutes before getting into a heated argument over the phone and of course Sherlock didn't care as he walked through the halls to his classroom, already very late. Meanwhile John was just walking the halls back to his office after dropping a student back to class who had cut open their hand while doing some form of woodwork. These days all injuries were caused by the same thing. Irresponsible teachers and so because of this, John didn't pay attention to the story anymore. He just patched up the student with a kind smile and sent them on their way. He had considered resigning to go into a normal doctor job but the money was preventing that from happening and the university knew it. 

Either way as he walked he heard the voice he would know anywhere. Sherlock Holmes. He was a science teacher in chemistry and was extremely clever. John had no doubt that his IQ was so far above average it made John's look like a mouse's. Yet he didn't let his cleverness pass as the excuse for his rudeness and obnoxious attitude towards anyone who was trying to be kind or at least civil. As far as John knew this Sherlock fellow hated every person in this school and his only friend was the needles he had found in his desk when looking for a first aid kit, that he didn't have to hand at the time. And since that day John had always been cautious around Sherlock and wanted to look out for him. And this could be a perfect chance.

Sherlock turned a corner sharply and went to hang up. That was until he saw John. He stayed on the line and turned yet another corner out of the perimeter of doctor do good, who he did not want to face especially since he would most likely give him yet another lecture on drugs. That was how every Monday started and John just called it 'being cautious'. Yet he never called John, John. It was always Watson or Doctor, nothing else. Why wold it be anything else? Mycroft continued to witter on even after Sherlock had ended the call and enter his classroom with waiting and... eager students. Oh right. He was late. Sherlock cleared his throat and greeted the class with a shaky hello before getting to his desk and stumbling into the seat. Drugs giving him a sudden surge. Time to teach.

Yet what went unnoticed to Sherlock was that John had followed him, watching under the cover of walls and doors, as silent as nothing. He made it to Sherlock's classroom just a couple minutes after he did and watched as the professor pulled on his glasses, beginning to talk about some form of chemical link between acids and metals. It all went over John's head but he stayed put anyway. And as he did, he saw nothing wrong aside from the occasional stumble and loss of place but he'd been like that before. No matter of urgency. The doctor turned to leave as a girl asked a question but he soon stopped in his tracks after hearing Holmes snap. Like this girl had just approached him and spat on his shoes. 

"No you stupid girl!" The male cried, putting his palms against his forehead in a gesture of stress. "Have you even been paying attention to  ** _anything_**  I have explained in the last ten minutes!?" Sherlock's tone was terribly harsh towards the poor student who looked absolutely terrified. That's when Jon stepped in. He marched into the room and grabbed Sherlock by the arm of his suit, dragging him out of the room as he ignored all of the defiance from the guy he was manhandling. Sherlock kept trying to retract his arm from the grip John had around it, trying to defy him with words as well as actions until the fast footsteps had reached John's office. He threw Sherlock inside who stumbled back and grabbed onto the desk. His expression showed just how shocked he was and just how absurd this whole thing was. Of course he though that. He was a narcissistic prick. 

John slammed the door behind after stepping in himself, an expression of anger across his face. "Watson there is absolutely no need for this. Let me get back to my class now." Sherlock demanded and attempted to make is way to the door which of course failed as he stumbled, falling onto the spiny chair on the other side of the desk. John watched and crossed his arms, sighing before going to the aid of his fellow teacher. "Not until you..." He hauled Sherlock up onto the small examination bed with a slight groan. "You have sobered up." He added simply before retrieving a key from around his neck and unlocking the top draw to his desk. IV bags that held a drug much like a liquid form of naltrexone.  Sherlock watched and quickly tried to get up off of the bed to get out but of curse John soon stopped him and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to see all the needle marks and scabs in their glory. Sherlock looked away and down to the floor, knowing what John must think and it wasn't good. John just sighed and found a vein good enough, deciding against saying anything this once. As he slipped in the needle, Sherlock winced and looked to John who secured his handy work in place with some tape. The teacher pulled back his arm as the nurse apologized, to which he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "It's not a problem..." He uttered softly and watched John go back to lock up the drawer.

He did so then returned to Sherlock's side, tying the key back around his neck. Sherlock watched intently, gently grazing his lower lip the the edge of his teeth. He'd always had the hots for John... being ex military and all. It was certainly something Sherlock took and interest in and why shouldn't he? He just never knew how to take the right approach. But now. Now was the right approach. Sherlock reached out a hand and grabbed John's arm. The doctor looked down at the pale hand grasping his tanned am then looked back up to see the cupid bow lips nearing towards his own. John's eyes widened as he pushed Sherlock back, chuckling nervously before moving away. Slowly he shook his head an held up his hands as Sherlock looked at John confused. Why did he push him away? "Sherlock..." he began and pulled out his necklace that held his key and... a wedding ring. That was embarrassing. "Sherlock I'm married." He spoke plainly and showed the metal loop.

Sherlock stared at it and blinked a few times. Damn. His face flushed a soft pink before getting the urge to leave. He had to leave. Sherlock grabbed the IV and ripped it out in an embarrassed frenzy which made blood rise to the skin and John rush forward to help. "W-whoa... Sherlock-" He began but was cut off by Sherlock pushing him off and rushing out. He was in an even more fouler mood than before but now also leaving a stunned doctor in his path. 

Oh Sherlock...


	3. Chapter 3- última palabra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--Back at the club--

Two drinks down, five to go until he was successfully drunk and unable to walk in a straight line. He mostly drank like this for the numb feeling he couldn't get from drugs. Most days he contemplated becoming an alcoholic but the habit was expensive along with the drugs and he couldn't give up street candy. He'd been using since his teen years, it had become normal. But boredom still took over no matter what just like now; being sat in that white bar stool sipping that third round of whisky was growing tiresome. All he could do was watch the strippers entertaining the groups of people sat in the corner since James was still serving people at the bar. The only other person he felt remotely okay to talk to and he didn't even know his last name. And of course the other person would probably now look over him and become like the other brainless tat at the school. He could practically hear the voices now, circling around his head so loudly he couldn't-

"So... Sherly. How was work?" The Irish voice suddenly purred which made the Englishman turn around with a slight hint of alarm. A large Cheshire cat smile was presented upon James' face as he looked over the pale features of Sherlock with his dark brown eyes. Pupils were dilated for sure... Most likely an effect of the dim lighting. Nothing to really pick up on so he may as well chat. "Um. Yes, yes something like that." Sherlock commented before looking down at the remaining drink in the glass before swiftly finishing it and holding up the empty glass. James raised an eyebrow and grabbed the bottle of whisky, bringing it over and refilling Sherlock's glass. "Need to share?" He offered as he finished giving the professor his fourth glass. Three to go. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders lazily and sighed, running an open palm across his forehead like wiping away the memories of today.

Now this had James intrigued for sure. He wanted to know what had his favorite person in such an emotional twist. It was almost amusing. Almost. The shorter male pulled up his own chair opposite Sherlock and got his own glass of a simple club soda. Sherlock watched, also a little fascinated on how invested James already seemed. They had only conversed... twice? Twice. And James seemed completely willing to be a shoulder to cry on when all their conversations had consisted of a few comments on drink, outfits, music and well James annoying him. And he seemed to like doing that. A lot. But still, Sherlock had no tears. He knocked back the fourth glass, coughing a little as the sharp taste hit the back of his throat and held it out again. Two to go until he was plastered. "I mean... I suppose I could share my very very great events of today." Sherlock shrugged once more and brought his refilled glass to his lips as Jim leaned his face onto his hands like a schoolgirl who was about to receive some new gossip. Some very slurred gossip. Sherlock cleared his throat and began to share today with the invested bar tender who was of course all ears sine someone else was now sharing the shift. No that Sherlock cared either way, he just spoke about every little thing and how annoying that doctor was and the nerve he had to refuse his gesture. "I mean, a wife! I saw her this evening and..." He paused, finished the drink and then continued. "He doesn't even wear the ring!" Then Sherlock gestured to himself with both hands, standing up yet stumbling. "I am way way waaaaay better for him then some... some blonde housewife." His tone had that disgust in it once more as James came out from behind the bar, sitting Sherlock back down in the chair. But he couldn't agree more. Sherlock was way better and this doctor Watson was blind to think otherwise, but if Watson wouldn't have him...

"Well. How about to make you feel better we give you a cocktail on the house?" James offered, taking the small glass from Sherlock anyway and walking back round to get him a cocktail either way. Sherlock nodded and crossed his arms as he sat back to look around the area that was still going strong. He smiled lazily, rocking his head in time with whatever track was playing through the many speakers. James glanced up from the liquid he poured from the mixer into the glass, making sure those blue eyes weren't watching before adding a hint of something extra to the pale green liquid. He added the garnish then handed it over after making sure it was mixed thoroughly. And of course, service with a smile. Sherlock sat forward and picked up the glass, raising it in the gesture of a toast. "To James for being... James." The professor slurred before drinking the familiar sweet and sharp taste of the Last Word. 

He finished the liquor and set down the glass with a triumphant smile before getting the aftertaste and making a face of confusion. "And... I think you need to get a new mixer...Tastes a little metallic..." Sherlock commented as he lent on his hand and shrugged. Oh well. His eyes lidded a little from drowsiness but kept talking to James when he wasn't serving customers. Yet an hour or so passed and Sherlock was not feeling good at all. With a hand on his stomach, he tried to get James' attention and once he did, he asked for a glass of water. James retrieved it quickly of course and handed it to the professor who raised it to his lips before his eyes rolled back and the glass fell to the floor with a smash. His head hit the bar and he was out for the count in a deep drug induced sleep. James smirked to himself then put on an expression that said this was basically a usual thing. He walked round to his co-worker and asked for them to take over the shift before gesturing back to Sherlock who was asleep. His co-worker rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement, serving the next drinker up at the bar. James thanked them and patted them on the back before walking round, pulling off his apron on the way and putting his hands under Sherlock's arms. He lifted the sleeping man and carried him out of the club as best he could to the sleek black Ford Mustang out front.

To aid in his alibi he asked a few passers by for help. They lifted him into the back seat as James got into the front and started the car with a small rev. He looked back o the guys as they got Sherlock into the car and smiled, thanking them just as profusely before beginning to drive home. But not Baker Street home. Oh no. His home on the outskirts of town. His real home. James drove just like any other driver, sticking to the rules of the road of course and once they got to the lights, those brown eyes lingered back to the sleeping male he finally had in his care. Oh this was going to be fun.


	4. Chapter 4- New surroundings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Powerful drugs and alcohol aren't a thing you should let your local psychopath to be able to get hold of and Sherlock can't believe the predicament he's in. Or doesn't want to believe such a thing.

"Wake up... My dear." Ever so slowly, James pushed himself up and out of the chair he had been sat in for well over three hours, just watching. His Irish accent had a rather suggestive purr to it as he spoke to the professor before him who was just starting to wake. Slowly his eyes opened with his eyelids heavy. He didn't notice much wrong until he started to fully wake and regain consciousness which he soon wished he hadn't. Horrible. Horrible pain. It was all centered in his back and neck that must have been because of the strain. But why would there be strain if he was sleeping in his bed- He wasn't. Then where was he? As his vision became clearer, Sherlock soon found he was looking at his feet. But how? How was he standing, he hadn't even been awake. The more his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the setting, the more he noticed. Vomit. The smell was in the air and the mess by his feet yet also drips and drabs clung to his open shirt and bare chest. Someone had unbuttoned his clothes and left him in a dark room. He went to move his feet but found they were restricted by ropes. He tried the same thing with his hands but found them to be strung above his head with handcuffs attached to a hook. Whoever they were, they weren't messing around.

And all through his mini investigation, James watched with excited eyes. Excited for the big reveal to his new toy because of course he was not going to miss out on the bare chested opportunity before him.

Sherlock carefully lowered his head yet only half way. That's when he saw a figure just stood. Someone who had remained extremely silent through his painful awakening. His captor? Probably. Who were they? Yet he didn't have to wonder for long as the person soon stepped forward and revealed themselves to him in all their grinning glory;

"James?" Sherlock asked in disbelief, his tone rough and gravelly from the amount of time he had been out and on account of the fact he was dehydrated. James just smirked and did a small wave of jazz hands like this was some performance. All pleased with himself and chipper as Sherlock felt like hell, sick even though that situation had already been played out on the floor. It didn't make sense, he wouldn't have let his local bartender do this willingly so there had to be something very dark behind this whole thing. Sherlock bared and expression of confusion as he looked at James who just shrugged. Why had he done this? How had he done this? Was this set up for something? Dark web content? To kill him? It could be anything. Yet he didn't get answers. No instead he got a faint laugh as James approached him, making sure to stay clear of the mess on the floor.

"Last night was rough for you Mr Holmes." Jim said with a disapproving tone and a shake of his head like a father would give his child. Before Sherlock could get some form of a word in, James grabbed his face ensuring that he didn't touch any of the dried vomit on that beautiful pale face. "That liver of yours must be veeeeeeryyyyy battered. As well as your heart with all that nasty heroin I found in your coat..." Slowly he tutted, moving Sherlock's head in a shaking motion. "Yet it did make your dosage a little easier to purchase. You couldn't have too much of the drug because I could send you into cardiac arrest and then you would never wake up." James looked off to the side like he was contemplating that fact, or envisioning it with a small pout on his lips. "Deadly thing zopiclone... Yet so so useful." He said after a mild pause before meeting Sherlock's eyes once again, regaining his playful grin that only screamed danger. "I had laid you down on a bed in the other room yet a couple hours later you began choking on your own puke." Now James' tone was soft, gentle. "I couldn't have you dying on me, so I hoisted you up here and you're still breathing to my delight. Admittedly a little messy but it's nothing we can't fix later..." As he spoke, James caressed Sherlock's cheek with his thumb which made him squirm as much as possible and turn his head away. A small noise of discomfort passed his lips as he had a growing feeling of emptiness in his stomach. It felt hollow yet also gave him the urge to throw up when there was nothing to regurgitate. James' smile fell as Sherlock turned away and sighed, letting go of Sherlock's chin with a harsh tare away. 

"Oh well." He sighed, disappointed as he began making his way to the door. "I'll be sending someone in later to deal with your little mess. In the meantime, rest well Sherly." James glanced back once more before closing the door and leaving Sherlock in darkness once again.


	5. Chapter 5- The Warm Darkness And The Cold Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How much does James actually know?

You couldn't make this up. As active as Sherlock's mind was he would of never imagined being kidnapped and strung up like some animal. It made him wonder just how long Jim had been plotting and waiting for this moment. Sherlock opened his eyes as light flooded into his contained room, making him flinch. He expected to see Jim but instead he saw to strong built males walk in and practically slam the door behind them. The pit in the professor's stomach grew as he began to feel fear and adrenaline rush through his body. Already, despite his drowsiness h did not feel safe and he could have sworn he saw something that resembled a crowbar in one of the men's hands. James wouldn't want to hurt him would he? He kidnapped him for a reason and that couldn't have been murder. That didn't make sense.

Trying to shy away, Sherlock closed his eyes and tugged on the ropes at his feet. His breathing hitched as he felt cold hands grasp his face, making sure he was still conscious. One guy passed a nod to the other as they began untying Sherlock from where he was strung. The two of them were being careful of their footing which meant the vomit was still there which meant it was the same day and not too long after the previous encounter. Odd, those minutes had felt like hours.

But now he needed to focus. Really focus, past the banging headache and the dehydration. Because he was being moved, why and where to were options he needed to expand but he had a feeling it was to somewhere James lurked. And that's probably why he didn't lash out because he could bargain, bargain for his freedom and James would consider it. He had to consider it.

As he was dragged out, Sherlock tried to look to his surroundings. The floor that his heels lazily dragged cross was cold like stone and the walls were similar. At least from what he could see through his lidded eyes. The air was warm- musky. So they were underground some place. As two sets of hands grabbed his arms, two more sets of feet passed them. Presumably to go clean up his mess by the sight of a bucket. That was all he could rationalize as he fought off a groan from the sudden harshness of natural light that felt unnatural to the eyes. He didn't want to show weakness but he couldn't fight back the sounds of pain from his lips. His head span violently as he looked to the source of light. A pavement window, a small circle that was lined with rusted orange bars. Never mind.

As violently as he was ripped from his thoughts, Sherlock was dragged up flights of stone stairs and taking harsh corners. His bare feet being shredded of few layers making his heels almost red raw. He groaned again and shut his eyes. Yet his respite wasn't long lived until he was thrown harshly onto his knees upon the floor. Sherlock threw his hands forward to stop his sore head from hitting the ground, making his matted curls fall into his face, small lines of shade blocking his view to the smartly dressed man before him. Shiny shoes and dress pants, an attire he wasn't used to on anyone else. Slowly and shakily, Sherlock looked up and met that grinning face again. 

The professor closed his eyes and looked back down which made James laugh. "See that boys?" He asked and looked to the two men, shaking his head. "He's not normally like this. I thought he was stronger but I may have already broken him..." His tone took a mocking disappointed route which made the adrenaline rush again. Sherlock looked up sharply, clenching his still restrained fists. 

"I am not broken." He hissed, full of hate and emotion clear- which only made James laugh more and step back, holding his hands up. It was obvious he was mocking. "Of course; of course. I do apologize Sherly." He sneered and shook his head, turning his back on his prisoner and walking over to a table. "At least... I would if I was just anyone like oh I don't know... John."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he just shuffled on his knees to try and get a view of that table until he heard John's name and that made him freeze. Just how much did James know? And how would he use it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will get a lot more updates sooner rather than later. I'm gradually gaining more free time!


	6. Chapter 6- The Line Went Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to our favourite jumper wearing boy with an added male of interest.

_The line went dead. Sixty-Five missed calls. Twenty unseen messages._ And John was still waiting to hear at least one word from Sherlock especially since last night. And as for his wife, well she was wondering what the problem was so John was just playing it off as a slight sickness just to avoid the awkward conversations. And still, he wasn't getting any closer to reaching his co-worker. 

The events of earlier were still circling his head, the look on Sherlock's face. The tone in his voice. There was a strong guilt resting upon his shoulders now, one that he never thought he'd experience for someone as cold as Sherlock but he supposed those slight attachments caused strange feelings within the nurse. So strange in fact e wasn't even sure if he should be feeling them. Sherlock probably wasn't even thinking about him so why couldn't he just shake the feeling? 

God this man was so frustrating- Wait that was it. A man that infuriated Sherlock so much so was his brother and his brother (by the sounds of it) had his eyes permanently upon the chemistry professor. And... What was his name? Mike? No. Dammit. John kept digging through memories he had attempted to keep, names being one. Mickey? No. Then what the hell was it?

There was only one place John could go for these things and that was the files. As the principle left for his break John got into the office, giving himself around fifteen minutes to find Sherlock's file which was bound to have a contact within. Finding a key, John swiped it and unlocked the cabinets beginning to search through the thankfully organised files.  _C...D...E...F, G and H._ Bingo. John held the file in his hands and opened it up, scanning his eyes over the documents to be sure everything was there and what he as finding was rather surprising. 

He could read in more detail later. Shutting the file and shutting the drawer John set the folder under his arm and locked up making sure he left no trace of entry or trace. It was like there had't even been a mouse within. He went to the door then looked down to the papers under his arm. Suspicious. Instead the school nurse pulled back his jumper and slipped it up underneath, concealing it against his chest. Perfect.

And that was how he had come to sitting in his office way past school time, reading over the documents in great detail. Sherlock was amazing, he already knew that but seeing every little detail in neat enough chicken scratch was incredible. A light gasp occasionally passed John's lips as he read what was jotted down from time to time. Sherlock clearly hadn't seen this because of the odd grammar mistake in the ballpoint pen scrawl but once he got to a very professional government headed piece of paper, John knew this man was a big deal.

Further he read, his eyes taking in each printed word before he came to the realization this was a warning of Sherlock's quote on quote 'adverse affects to certain situations' or his 'tendencies to be off toward people'. Really it was incredible how this man had been employed and yet; John's eyes soon widened. The professor was so young and seemingly detached from normal life. It wasn't healthy for a male of his age to be this enclosed with his work. And he certainly did not act like most his age.

As John got to the bottom of the letter he saw some looped handwriting and then a printed version of the name within the signature. Mycroft! Of course, with a name like Sherlock it would only make sense for a sibling to have a name just as odd. A number was upon the header of the letter that John soon entered and called, looking off to the distance as he waited for a connection. Three voice messages and a receptionist later, John eventually got through to the man that went by Mycroft Holmes. "Mr Holmes?" John asked as it connected.

The posh voice upon the other end appeared struck with a streak of confusion to who he unfamiliar voice as and how he had gotten this information let alone the number. "Who is this?" The elder asked in return, stopping the work he was tending to.

"This is Doctor John Watson." he explained, waiting patiently for a reaction. "I um... I work at the same school as your brother... I need some help." Mycroft listened intently, raising an eyebrow to why he was being called by a relative nobody about his brother.

"Oh yes, and what's he done now?" Mycroft asked; leaning back in his chair. At least until he heard the news which got him confused yet slightly amused. "This is my brother we are talking about. It wouldn't be the first time." The government head sighed and loaded up his reference map for his little brother. "Listen, if I check the whereabouts of Sherlock, you mustn't contact this number again or speak a word to anyone on how you know me in connection to my brother. Understood?"

John frowned at the request but he just really wanted to find Sherlock so, he just had to comply. He didn't find Mycroft frightening in any way, shape or form. It was actually quite the opposite since he had a tendency to dislike people who were full of themselves- well Sherlock he supposed was an exception. "Sure, whatever you need me to do so you can find him." John got a chuckle of a response before some clicking sounded and then silence.

**_That didn't make sense._ **

Mycroft searched his monitor rather frantically after seeing nothing coming up. How had Sherlock gone off the grid? "I-" Mycroft began but soon fell silent. Speechless. This was business that couldn't be limited by a speaker. John needed to see this. "I'm... afraid I can't disclose details over the phone. Call this number tomorrow. Midday exact and then I can disclose."

And that was all. John was perplexed. _The line went dead._


End file.
